


Life After You

by LemonadeGrenade



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alexander Luthor is a religious man, Duela is also crazy like her dad, Earth 3 Killing Joke, Earth-3, Gen, Harvey Dent is basically Gene Hunt from Life on Mars, Jack Has Issues, Jack has Joker's obsessive love, Jack is Insane, Jack is a glass canon, Jack is a good dad, Jack is actually extremely dangerous in reality, Jack is in love with a monster, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason is Jack's adopted son, Jokester is a good man, M/M, Mental Illness, The Legion of Doom (DCU), The Legion of Doom are the protect Jack squad, crime syndicate, jack needs help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonadeGrenade/pseuds/LemonadeGrenade
Summary: After the Justice League of Earth 3 finally find themselves as victorious liberators against the collapsed Crime Syndicate. Everything can go back to normal as the people of Earth 3 happily try to rebuild their civilisations in peace. But Jokester finds himself falling apart.





	1. Walla Walla - The Offspring

Chapter 1: Walla Walla - The Offspring 

It happened in the middle of Crime Alley, at 4am on a Tuesday Morning. 

Jokester found himself with his fingers awkwardly straddling the trigger of his gun. He could feel a trickle of blood drizzling down his shoulder and a rib jotting into a tender area where it really shouldn’t be. But it didn’t matter. He simply licked his lips with a slight chatter of his teeth. Gingerly, he stole a breath and squeezed his eyes. He took a moment to gaze down at the sight laid out in front of him. 

His eyes gleamed as a heap of armoured feathers heaved in place. There was blood oozing into the grooves of the cobblestones, acting as little rivers leading towards a source made up of red stained steel. Jokester could barely make out his own reflection in the mess, but he still took a second to marvel at the feathers’ sharp beauty as the moonlight shone on them. As an engineer, he always wondered how they were crafted. Extremely lightweight but incredibly sharp. He had them lodged in his body enough times to know how deadly they were. But he knew from their shape that they had to be thrown in just a way, with brutal strength but a steady grace to really make them effective. A primal grunt knocked him out of his trance. 

The Owl snapped his face up at him. His square jaw is coated in blood and the nose of his mask has been cracked off in the scuffle. His talons gripped his stomach tightly as more blood gushed out of his suit. Jokester took one careful step forward. 

The Owl lashed out. Slashing his spare hand, which only had two remaining claws left, and snarled at Jokester like a cornered alley cat. He bared his teeth and the red of his gums as Jokester dared to take another step, now close enough to be in the red grooves, and winced ever so slightly. In fascination, Jokester watched as Owlman shivered in pain. 

Ha, I gotcha you Bastard. 

He took another step. 

“Well?!” The Owl hissed. 

“Well what?” 

“Aren’t you going to kill me? Isn’t that what you want?” Owlman spat, glancing his golden eyes towards the gun in Jokester’s hand. Jokester bit his lip and smoothed the edge of his finger over the trigger. 

“You know I would never kill you, Owlsie. You’re just too much fun.” Jokester replied, usually when he pulls that line it’s full of adrenaline and in the middle of one of their glorious dances. Not this time though. 

“I’ve scarred you, branded you, killed your friends, broke your daughter, and took your own name from you. Yet, you won’t kill me.” Owlman stated, lodging himself around. His never blinking stare eyeing the edges of the buildings before finally dropping his gaze and grunted a “Why?”

Jokester sipped on the crisp air. It was such a cold morning for June. He should get the laundry in when he gets home. 

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully before pulling his coat around his tiny frame. “I think it’s the same reason why you haven’t killed me.” 

Owlman snorted. He slowly brushed his claw against his belt before whipping out his grappling hook, Jokester as swiftly as a cowboy, blasted his gun and shot the grappling hook right out of Owlman’s grip.

“No.” Jokester affirmed. “Not tonight.” The Owl glared at his hook, now glued to the back wall by one of Jokester’s joke plunger darts. A curl of his lips made Jokester’s stomach lurch. 

“But isn’t it how it’s meant to end? I create misery and you cheer them up. That’s your act, isn’t it Clown? But to do that, you need me around.” Owlman smirk grew, twisting it’s way onto his face. Jokester reached into his coat and pulled out another gun. 

“Not this time. You’re on your own out here, Owlsie. It’s over, don’t you get it or do I have to explain the punchline? All your friends, all your little whores are locked up tight. You’re the last one.” Jokester smiled, aiming his new gun straight blank on Owlman. “This time, nobody is coming to save you, not even me.” 

Flashes of blue and white suddenly sparked against Owlman’s stained armor. The sirens’ screams where getting closer. Jokester gritted his teeth, refusing to move his stare from Owlman. The Owl tilted his head like a curious bird, never blinking those dead, amber eyes. 

“You retraced your offer?” 

“I’m not shinning the torch for you this time.” He promised. 

“You’re nothing without me, Clown. You know it, I know it, Gotham knows it” Owlman snarled, wiggling on the floor like an eel. “I gave you purpose.” 

Jack didn’t say anything to that. He listened to the rain and the Owl’s constant growling, it was a lovely blend. He sat across from Owlman and waited patiently until the police came. 

It took four heavily padded policemen and two elite security teams to take Owlman out of the alley. Jokester had watched as they chained him up, stripped him of his weapons, and shoved him into the back of the most airtight police van he’d ever seen. He’d been careful to never leave anyone out of his sight. Even with the Owl having his wings clipped, he was still capable of killing a civilian or twelve. It was only until the van was out of sight did Jokester remember to breath properly, and it was only when the paramedic rip the owlarang from his shoulder did he remind himself that he was actually in pain. 

“Jack?!” A voice called. Jokester looked out at the sea of uniformed men and found a man in a tan coat slamming the door of his Ford Mustang, sirens still flashing on top of the roof.

“Jackie?! Are you alright?” The man ordered, concern lacing his loud voice as he shoved past officers. He marched across the scene. Jokester smiled playfully as he saw the man’s unique face.

“I’m okay Harv.” Jack said, shrugging lightly. 

“I got here as soon as I could. I heard over the radio- Did that fucker hurt you again?!” Harvey Dent growled, locking his eyes squarely on the wound the paramedic was working on. Jack chuckled. 

“Not as much as I hurt him.” 

“I heard over the radio. Did...did you get him?” Harvey swallowed, the burnt side of his face found it hard to express what he needed to say. But Jack never needed that. Jack simply continued to smile with a toothy grin before nodding his head excitedly. 

“The Owl has been caged.” 

Harvey grabbed him and crushed him in a choking hug. Their laughs filled the air while tears of joy dripped on the ground. Jack inhaled the warm, smoky smell coming off Harvey’s coat as Harvey card his hand through Jack’s purple hair. In the space between Harvey’s shoulder and his neck, Jack could see the sun starting to trickle over the horizon from the west. 

“It’s over, it’s finally over.” He whimpered.


	2. Kryptonite - 3 Doors Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three months after the Syndicate has fell and it's Jack Napier's Birthday according to Harvey.

Chapter 2 - 

The first time Jack noticed that something was off was three months later, as he was pulling in his washing line from the window. 

Jack sat on the window ledge, idly fiddling with the wet clothes in the basket. He fished out one of his t shirts and hooked it on, glancing at the skyline and the roof tops as he did. It was starting to get light out, and the nice man on the TV had promised that today was going to be pleasant enough to enjoy. The nice man before him said that the crime rate in Gotham has hit a record low, but it didn’t fill Jack with much confidence. He looked up at the buildings again, sighed, and pinned a bigger t shirt on the line. 

“Have you been waiting up all night again?” 

“Geez!” Jack bolted from the ledge, spilling his laundry on the floor as he clenched his chest. “How many times have I told you not to do that?” 

The man standing in the doorway of his apartment shrugged. Jack couldn’t see the playful smirk under the red helmet but he knew damn well that it was there. “How many times have I told you not to wait up for me?” 

Jack grumbled to himself and stepped over his laundry. He marched over to the man and started to fuss over his messy tuxedo. “How was last night?” Jack asked. 

“Quiet, really quiet. Other than a robbery in a convenience store, there wasn’t anything to worry about.” The man said, pulling off his hood. Jack looked at his handsome face, strong jaw and dark hair. He couldn’t help but smile proudly, wet his thumb and wipe a smudge off his cheek. Jason just gasped a chuckle and allowed it to happen. “You don’t need to wait up for me, you know” He added.

“I wasn’t waiting up for you, I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Uh huh, is that why you just so happen to put out laundry at 6am?” Jason smirked. He set down his helmet and tugged off his tie. He slumped down in a tatty, old antique chair and watched as Jack scrambled to put the clothes back into their basket. 

“I dunno if you haven’t noticed but summer is ending and I tend to as much use out of that sun while we still have it. You try paying for that tumble dryer during a winter.” Abandoning his basket, Jack paced to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. 

“You know what I mean. Jack, I can look after myself. I’ve been trained by Owlman and you, remember?” Jason called. Jack bit his lip. Goodness, did he remember Jason back then; an angrily bitter little ball of puffed up bravado that shivered in his arms as he bled out. Even bed ridden and on Death’s doorstep, Jason had fought him all the way. He’d refuse Jack’s medical care, refuse the food Jack brought him, and refused to even look him in the eye. The only time Jason allowed his company was while he was dozing off to sleep as Jack sung him a lullaby and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

It took months, it took almost a year before Jason was all healed up. But the punches and kicks, all the cussing and shouting was worth it. 

Jack had crawled back from another fight with the Owl. But this time the Owl had gotten extra nasty. Jack couldn’t remember much of that night but involved the surgical removal of his left kidney under no anaesthetic and his own laughter echoing in his throat. His best green suit was drowning in blood and he was losing conscientiousness rapidly. He made it to the middle of the alley that was just outside of his apartment before he dropped to his knees and the world turned dark. But he woke up in the middle of his own bed with a scraggly teenager sat next to him, tending to his wounds with a mob doctor, who had one of Jack’s kitchen knives lodged at his jugular. “You saved me and I’m saving you. Now we’re even.” Jason had told him in that rough tone after he caught bloodshot eyes staring up at him. “I’m leaving after you’re healed.” 

Of course Jason never left. He’d linger next to his bedside after it was obvious that Jack was more than capable of taking care of himself and his daughter. Jason would always claim that there was another problem that needed tending after announcing something was healed. It took him another year to claim that since losing a kidney was something could never be fully healed, he couldn’t ever leave Jack’s side. 

Five years afterwards, Jack cried when he first saw Jason step out of his bedroom dressed in a tuxedo and his old red helmet. It was one of the most beautiful sights Jack ever seen and still is. 

Jack flitted out of his memories as the kettle snapped. He returned to the living room with one cup of coffee for Jason and a mug of herbal tea for himself. He placed them down on his chemistry workbench, eyeing for a moment on how chipped and old the glass is getting.

“I know you can Songbird, but I’m still allowed to worry about you.” Jack smirked and wagged his gloved finger. 

“Songbird...You do know I’ve got like eighty pounds on you, right?” Jason chuckles. 

“You still like to come and see me sing downstairs sometimes.” 

“Only because I like to make sure you’ve taken your medication. Have you taken them today?” 

“Yes Nurse.” Jack rubbed his eyes and took a second to sip some of his tea. He caught the wry look Jason was casting him. Jack flexed his lips and grumbled “I’ll take them now...” 

Jason followed him back to the kitchen and hawked from the doorway as Jack took out his pills from the cabinet and swallowed them down with his prissy hot water. “You’re tired. You need some sleep.” Jason stated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not sleepy, I told you.” 

“You’re tired, I can tell.” Jack shot him a glare. “You’re not acting yourself.” 

“I’m fine, really.” 

“Okay, do you know what today is?” Said Jason. He shed off his crimson cape, leaving it draped over one of the kitchen chairs. He raises an amused brow as Jack instinctively took the cape and folded it up. 

“Sunday?” Jack questions, placing the folded cape on the seat of one of the chairs. 

“No” 

“Friday?” 

“No” 

“Monday? Saturday?” 

“Nope” 

“Well I give up then. So tell me, Clever clogs, what day is it today or should I get Schedule man to tell us?” Jack snarked. Jason moved towards with quiet, delicate steps, pulling something out of his suit pocket and handing Jack an envelope. “Rent day?” 

“You don’t pay rent, remember? Mr Copplepot gave you this place.” 

“What is it then?” 

“Just open the damn card.” Jason hissed. Jack signed dramatically before flicking the card open. He started to giggle as he forced out a colourful card with balloons dotted all over the cover. “Happy Birthday, dumbass.” 

Jack couldn’t help but titter himself silly. For obvious reasons, he didn’t know if today was actually his birthday. He only knew it was Jackie Napier’s birthday after Harvey and Duela had come round one year with the intent to celebrate with their proclaimed long lost family member. Jack remembered Harleen standing off against Harvey in the doorway, rolling her pretty eyes, repeating louder and louder that Jay’s memory was delicate, and anything forced could upset his chances at getting his true family back. Harvey had called her a dumb bitch before he shoved past her. 

“Another year older, what’s up with that?” Jack grinned to himself, placing the card next to the TV. 

“Not to look a gifted horse in the mouth. Not a lot of people can say that after they faced off against Owlman.” Jason was right naturally, Jack found himself drifting back to thoughts of Harleen again and how she would be tutting at Jason right now. “You know usually you get all bouncy weeks before your birthday.” 

“It’s been a busy few months.” It was true. It had been a busy summer. After news of the Owl’s capture, the people drunk on freedom partied non-stop while small fry criminals got overly cocky. Jokester spent days stopping drunken civilians from killing themselves in the stupidest ways possible and nights capturing criminal wannabes from scraping in a free for all over the Owl’s throne. It’s only been in the last few weeks had the parties finally start to settle down and the thugs got the message. Jack rubbed his eyes and wondered if they changed colour again if Jason knew. 

“Come on Jack, you’re exhausted. I’m back home now, there’s no need for you to stay up.” 

“I guess I could use a nap.” All this reminiscing was making him a little tired he decided. “Just a little one.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight Songbird.” Jack said before shuffling his way to his bedroom. 

It wasn’t anything grand, his room. It was basic with all the things that a room needed but it had that green flare he added over the years. He planted himself down on the bed and slowly peeled off his sweatpants and his t shirt. He hesitated when it came to his gloves. He stared at them for a moment before sighing gently and removing the first glove. It took him another minute to feel brave to address the other one. Gingerly, he slowly started to roll it off his left hand. There, against the virgin snowy white of his skin was a ghastly red spider of a scar. Those nasty, vicious lines have been burnt deep into his skin in the shape of the Owl’s symbol. Even glancing at the ugly thing reminds him of the smell of his own flesh cooking in the Owl’s hand and how it hurt. 

Being scarred by the Owl wasn’t something that was new. Goodness graces, he surrounded his whole persona around his Chelsea smile and how beautiful it looked in plum lipstick. But this was different. There was just something about it. Something that wasn’t the fact that the Owl had rendered his main hand utterly useless for months, putting Jokester out of the game and not even fit enough to be support or useful enough to make weapons. There was something more to it. Something that Jason had said to him when he first saw it when Duela had finally wrangled him into allowing her to paint his nails on one of their Daddy/Daughter days during her recovery. 

“Richard has a brand like that.” Jason had said quietly, barely above a whimper. At the time Jack didn’t think too much about it, Duela was too busy debating loudly on silver or hot pink nail polish. 

But now, what could it mean? Why would Nightingale have the same brand as him? Why was he so bothered? It didn’t make any sense. Jokester was starting to stir within him, nudging him into wanting to investigate and find those answers. Jack suddenly trembled at how the hiss of scar always seem to wake up when fresh air kissed it. Jack swallowed sharply. He gulped the rest of his tea. It tasted bitter and rooty, something Pam had probably shoved into his kitchen at Jason’s pursuance. He laid down on his back and watched at the ceiling in hopes that it would chant a spell that would put him to sleep. 

By some miracle, it did. Jack awoke with a shock as someone was thundering their fists against his front door. He rolled over on his side, body limp with exhaustion. He silently hoped Jason would be kind enough to get it. 

Apparently, Jason wasn’t feeling overly generous today. The knocks continued to clatter louder and louder until Jack huffed and pulled on his gloves and sweats. He stumbled his way to the front door. He’d just unlocked the chain before a dirty dress shoe booted the door out of his hand. Jack glared at Harvey who was already pulling off his coat. 

“That was in my way.” Harvey retorted, strutting into the apartment like a peacock during mating season. 

“What do I owe the pleasure?” Jack questioned, pushing a strand of his violet hair out of his face. 

“Can’t a man come and see his family on their birthday?” 

“You nearly booted my door off it’s edges.” 

“Ah; coulda, woulda, shoulda” he shrugged. “For all I could of known, you could have been laying in a pool of your own blood hanging onto the last thread of life.” Jack suddenly felt his heart tighten. Not because Harvey was right, but because of something else he couldn’t quite pin. “I will be damned, I would chop my fucking dick off before I allowed myself to lose you again.” Harvey added, his serious voice lingered in the room. “Happy birthday Jackie.” 

“Thanks Harv” Jack smiled lightly. “Where’s Duela, shouldn’t she be with you?” 

“She’s...doing something.” Harvey lied, causing Jack to pout his lips and flit his eyes up at him. “Hey, did I wake you up or something? You’re usually dressed by now.” 

“Jason suggested that I take a nap. What time is it anyway?” Taking a peek at the clock, Jack wheezed. Had he really been asleep for that long? Jason was right, he was tired. 

“It’s time I take you out for birthday drinks.” Harvey grinned like a naughty schoolboy caught in the girl’s locker room. “Come on, get yourself dressed and lets go and have some fun!” 

“You know I can’t drink right?” Jack chuckled. “One kidney, remember?” 

“And I only have one eye that I can actually see out of but I still have my driving licence.” Harvey smiled so hard that the burnt side of his face was actually starting to pull off emotion. Jack playfully snorted. 

“Alright fine, but are you actually going to wait for me to put my face on this time?” Jack mussed. He moved to the window and how the night sky was starting to set in. He noticed that Jason was kind enough to put his laundry out. He started to wheel the line back in. 

“If you’re doing your clown face, then yes.” 

“I only put that on for my day job. I don’t think your boss would like seeing me in my getup acting like I own his city.” 

“Ah fuck Wayne. The rest of Gotham loves you. Hey, we won’t even need to tell them it’s your birthday to get free drinks.” 

“Leave the jokes to me Harv” Jack smirked back as he made his way to the bathroom. He held the door with a cheeky face. 

“You’re a crap comedian, you always were.” 

“Ha.” 

It usually took Jack about an hour to get ready when it came to his colourful uniform. He’d taken the time to appeal the right eyeshadow and his mascara, longer to fluff his hair into the just the way he liked it. But his favourite operation was the lipstick. He took pleasure in curling geode lipstick over his bumpy scars, like he was trying to plaster over them, making them really his. 

“Oh hey!” His reflection called back. Jack adjusted his eyes before the vision melted into another version of himself. Another him, dressed up and down in a medieval jiggly Jester suit chequered in purple, green, and red. Jack could see a slight green curl escaping from his hat. The other him waved at him like an old friend. “Hood told me you finally got rid of your Owl.” Jester proudly reported. 

“Oh hello Jesse. How are you?” Jack replied. Taking his hair comb and shifting stray strands into the perfect place. 

“Okay actually. For once. Just been healing up after my last tangle with Superwoman, I think she must be jealous. I haven’t seen much of you for a while. Hood thinks you’ve gotten yourself sane.” Jesse bounced in place, jingling all of his bells. 

“No, I’ve just been busy.” Jack said as he dumped his makeup bag to the side. “I’m going out tonight, for fun. Harv said to wear my clown face. I might go on patrol later, a birthday present to myself.” 

Jesse blinked. “Is it our birthday?” 

“Well Harvey said it’s mine.” He said, finding his orange shirt on the bathroom stool. He noticed the frown shadowing Jesse’s face. 

“You’re so lucky. Got yourself a family and the Owl out of the way. I wish I could do that.” 

“You’ll get there. If I can do it, you and Hood can.” 

A knock on the door rattled him out of his delusion. Harvey opened the door and to toss Jack’s garish green trousers at him. “As much as I love hearing you talk to yourself, we have to get going. We’re already late.” He said, taking a sip of something from that World’s Okayest Dad mug that Jason had gotten him on a Father’s day a good few years ago. 

“Late for what? I thought we were going for drinks.” 

“You’ll see.” 

Before he could find it within himself to complain, his hands were already fastening his fly. It was even harder to fight Harvey when he was launching his good shoes at him. As soon as Jack slipped on his vest, he was grabbed by the wrist and dragged out of his apartment. He knew that glint of trouble that was sparking in Harvey’s good eye as they descented down the stairway. 

“Where are we going?” 

Harvey just winked. Jack found himself being pulled around the back of the building. 

“No-where.” Chuckled Harvey, one hand already on the stage door and with his usual brutish grace, he slammed it open. 

“Surprise!” Everyone cheered, holding their champagne flutes in the air. The last remaining members of the Rouges Galley smiled at him with giddy glee. 

The Titanic Lounge was a jungle of wild streamers, raining confetti, and berry coloured balloons. On the bar was a small finger buffet of little nibbles in dainty bowls. The tables had all been crammed together to hold the massive cake and everyone’s seats. While on the dancefloor was a dozen different presents, all clashing against each other. Jack couldn’t help but notice the especially large looking box next to Duela as she sung her legs innocently off the edge of the stage. She gave him a giant grin before springing up over towards him. 

“Happy Birthday Daddy! Are you surprised? I bet you are, right? I bet I gotcha real good!” Duela purred, locking Jack in a tight hug. Jack replied by carding her back, dotting a kiss on her white forehead. 

“Of course you did Princess. I mean, would you look at all of this? Is this all for little old me?”   
“Who else?” Jason mused, dusting confetti off his t shirt. 

“It took some effort you know.” A voice tutted. Appearing from behind the bar, Oswald waddled over and shook his cane at Jack. “It took them two days to get this all set up.” Oswald jabbed his cane in Jack’s chest teasingly. 

“Aw Boss, closing the place down for a few nights for little old me. I’m speechless.” 

“Please don’t ruin your voice tonight, I need it for tomorrow.” 

“I’ll do my best to behave” Jack huffed politely, he could feel Duela already tugging on his sleeve.

“Come on Daddy, it’s time to open your presents!” Duela told him, taking him to the big table of his friends. 

It took a moment to register the amount of people were actually here – Eddie, Jonathan, and Evelyn where the only other people here. The others were either dead or they were too busy healing or trying to move on with their lives; Pam came to mind. Poor Pam. Eddie and Evelyn gave him a polite nod, smiling lightly at Duela. Jonathan gave him a gentle wave as he was nursing his drink before Duela finally got bored and dragged him over to the stage where the giant box was waiting for him. 

Staring at the box, he took a moment to take in the ribbons and the silly pattern on the gift box that Duela no doubt picked out. He looked at her again with a nervous flick of his lip. 

“This isn’t a bomb, right?” 

“Daddy...” 

“I was only joking.” 

“Open your present” said Jason. 

With a deep breath, Jack pulled the ribbon and flipped the lid. The sides of the box flopped to the ground with a gentle thud. There, in the middle of the stage, sat crossed leg with a patient smile and getting his classy black suit dusty was Alexander Luthor. Jack gasped in delight. 

“Hello Jack.” Alex stood up from his spot with his arms held out like a welcoming pastor. 

“Alex!” Jack leapt into those arms, holding himself against that fancy suit and inhaling Alex’s expensive cologne. He could feel the purr of Alex’s chest as Jack nuzzled into his shoulder. Alex held him like a brother. 

“I see that you’ve missed me.” 

“Only a little. Why are you here? I thought – you, I thought you were in Metropolis getting ready for your campaign! How – when?” Jack was cut off by Alex’s gentle laugh. Alex cocked his head and stared at him with those benevolent baby blues. 

“Someone from the Legion of Justice had to come and see what trouble you were causing.” Alex said, scuffing up Jack’s Ribena hair. “That and your daughter has inherited your negotiation skills.” 

“Meaning she didn’t stop calling your office until you gave in?” 

“Pretty much.” Jack found himself covering his smile with his fingertips at that. The night decided to drag on lightly, like a snail on a sunflower leaf. Jack spent most of it watching across the room where Duela and Jason were playing water tag with Oz’s drink guns, laughing like couple of hyena pups as Mr Copplepot chased them with his stick chanting something about wasting his money. Suddenly in a moment when Jason had Duela cornered in one of the booths with a cartoonish leer spread on his face, a hot jolt trickled down his spine. Like a spider had just darted across his grave or as if someone had blown hot air into his ear. Something odd, something hard to pinpoint but something not overly unfamiliar to his senses. 

“Jack?” 

“Huh?” Jack bounced back into the room, blinking blankly at Alex’s face. A warm hand touched his glove accompanied with a friendly smile. “Oh I’m sorry Alex, I just...zoned out there.” 

“I was just saying that Sinestro and Barbara send their best regards, David does too. They wish they could come but -” 

“They all have their empires to run. I get it.” He shrugged, taking a sip of a coke that Jason pushed towards after confiscating the shot of whiskey Harvey tried to slip him. “I understand.” He stabbed his fork into his slice of cake. “I’m sorry” he added, pushing the frosting across his plate. 

“You know, Jason’s been worried about you. He told me on the way here,” Jack’s ears pricked up like a spaniel but he was too busy working his fork at the decorticated cake to give Alex eye contact. “You haven't been cracking jokes and you haven’t touched your piano recently. I know that these last few months have been really difficult for you.” 

“Do you?” 

“We all do, Jack. You’re right, you’re not like the rest of the team, everyone else, well, we have something to strive for, something to do. You had Owlman and now he’s gone. I know that he’s been your greatest sin” Alex squeezed his shoulder politely in the manner a sweet man on a rotten date would. Jack brushed his thumb over that warm patch. 

Sin was something Alex liked to talk about, especially back during the struggle. Jack recalled those long, hot nights when he sat in the middle of that abandoned Louisianan mansion, mending his suit, one of his gadgets, or even a teammate. Alex would stand up on the staircase, opening a bible and reminded everyone what they were fighting against. “Lucifer knows that we suffer, and like him we shall be victorious after our time of strife.” Came to Jack’s mind, along with the texture of Barbara’s fur rubbing against him as the crickets’ sang. 

He darted his eyes over to his kids again, smiling softly at how Duela laughed as she ruffled her hair in a towel as Jason mopped up the mess. His heart pinged. “The Legion of Justice has one more mission before we can move forward. We have to clean out the Crime Syndicate’s Watchtower.” 

“I thought Washington told us to stay away.” 

“They did, but only because they were worried about a retaliation. It’s fair to say that the world is finally in the clear.” Alex puffed his chest out proudly. “Plus it would be a total waste of a space station. I was thinking of using it as a new base.” 

“And you want me to come?” Jack asked, squashing a lump of icing with the back of his fork.

“You’re part of the team Jack.” Alex said, sipping his drink. “I need you to come, it’ll be good for you. It’ll give you the closure that you need.” Closure’s a funny word. The end of something or finally getting over an event is what it’s meant to mean. Jack bit his lower lip. Going to the Watchtower, taking a step into one of the Owl’s many nests. He could almost taste the kevlar on the Owl’s fist. Jack could feel the smell of the Owl’s unique scent dance in his nose; Gotham rain mixed with fresh blood and newly printed money. It made Jokester within him quiver in delight. 

“When are we going?” Jack asked, Jokester’s old smile spread excitedly on his cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3: Masterpiece - Madonna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Legion of Justice go to the Crime Syndicate. Jack discovers more about the Owl than he should of done.

Chapter 3: Masterpiece – Madonna 

“Are we all in agreement?” Alex asked, standing over the table as everyone else were too busy trying to sink in the moment. 

It was hard to believe he was even here. Jokester; the jester of justice, the harlequin of hope, the clown prince of crime fighting, sat in Owlman’s throne in the heart of the Crime Syndicate's Watchtower listening to Alex speak from Ultraman’s space. He was just a little clown from big bad Gotham. Now he was in outer space with his friends discussing business from where their enemies had plotted their demise just months ago. 

Jack moved his hand over the leather of the armrest. He could see the dents of were the Owl’s claws had dug in sharply. Something must of upset him. Jack traced his fingers against those ridges, swirling the tips slowly, never daring to bury his nails into them. The chair reeked of him. The rain, the blood, the money. Lightly, Jack couldn’t help but slowly drown himself into the soft seat. He wondered if he was quiet enough, would he hear the gentle chime of the Owl’s features ruffling before he swooped in to attack? 

“Jack?” 

“Oh Aye!” Jack replied, pulling himself out of his daze. From across the table, Sinestro suddenly frowned. 

“Jack, my friend, I suggest that we work on our rooms together. Power Ring’s quarters are extremely small and we can only imagine what horrors Owlman has hidden in his room.” Sinestro recommended. Jack saw the glint of guilty worry in those golden eyes. 

“Maybe it would be better if we all worked on the private rooms together as a team. We’re already working on Johnny Quick’s and Atomica’s room together since Leonard...” Barbara stopped herself. She tapped her claw against the table as a moment of silence shadowed over them. Poor Leonard. 

“May the Morning Star guide him to sleep” Alex drawled, turning his back to peek down at the world through the grand window. “I understand everyone’s concern but I have already had my satellite scan this ship from top to bottom hundred times, there are no bombs or any sort of high level weaponry to worry about, there is nothing to be afraid of. But I’m grateful that everyone is on their toes. It would be our luck that we would lose someone after we’ve defeated the Crime Syndicate.” 

“Then surely a team effort to sweep all the rooms would be a better idea.” Sinestro added. Barbara nodded her head. Jack felt a little trickle of dread dribbling down his stomach. 

“If you think I’m sharing my trophies with you all, you got another thing coming.” Dave snarled, standing up from the back of the table. “I spent years trying to hunt down that son of a bitch and now that I’ve got him, you want me to share my victory? Absolutely not. I want to do this alone.” 

“It’s not about trophies, David.” 

“That bastard turned my only son against me, Sin. So I took his kingdom. It’s a fucking personal thing. Look, I get that you might not understand it since your bad guy wasn’t really a bad guy. He was just some random dude who got rolled up in the wrong crowd. But for Satan’s sake, I need to do this alone.” Jack’s heart started to hammer as Dave finished with a huffing breath. He stood defiant against Sinestro, who floated as gracefully as a demon towards him. “Just because you guys think Jack is a little pickled, doesn’t mean you can treat him like a baby.” He growled. Sinestro raised an arched eyebrow, he continued to float in front of Dave as if to remind him of what he could do. “And don’t call me fucking David.” 

“Are you two just about finished? Geez, no wonder we were always losing.” Jack grumbled. “Sin, I know that you’re trying to protect me and stuff, I get it, but I did beat Owlman and I’m tougher than I look. Dave, thanks for sticking up for me, but I can fight my own battles, alright? I know I’m not the most sturdy guy in the world, but give me some credit.” 

“We just care about you Jack.” That statement stewed in Jack’s head. 

“Yeah, I know, but I’m a guy who had his kidney removed and laughed as it happened. I don’t need defending.” A trickle of silence stuck in the air. Sinestro glanced over to Barbara who shot her gaze towards Alex. Jack’s fisted clenched under the table. His fake teeth clicked as he pushed his jaw down in a crunch. He knew he was making a toddler’s pouty face, but it didn’t matter when a whisper in the back of his head started to stick in his mind like treacle. “I’m don’t need babysitting.” 

“Jack, real talk, you don’t fucking eat enough and one of us would find you passed out somewhere back in Louisiana because you refused to fucking sleep. You talk to yourself in the mirror and you’re a pretty messed up guy. Look, I think you should be able to go and clean out Wayne’s crap because I’m not about to go and mess with his creepy bird looking ass junk.” Dave shrugged, slipping himself out of Ocean Man’s seat. 

With a wave of his arm and before anyone else could say a word, Dave disappeared through the automatic doors leading to the East Wing of the Watchtower. 

“I’m okay. Really, I am.” Jack mumbled, glancing his eyes down at the table, but nobody was listening. 

Everything in Owlman’s quarters had to be either black or grey. Everything from the panels on the walls, to the sheets on the bed, and even the delicate sensors on the automatic wardrobe matched. It really wasn’t much of a surprise. 

There stood in the centre of the room, displaying it’s own dominance, was a full suit of the Owl’s armour. It was an older model. He could tell. Jack remembered that these feathers are slightly darker in their shade of grey and how they’re a fraction heavier than the ones that the Owl liked to use now – before, well. His fingers traced over a feather, smoothing his gloved skin over it’s icy silkiness. It was sharp, that was a given. But only up close could Jack marvel at how actually each individual blade had microscopic jagged edges and slight divots. He clacked a few of the feathers against each other as he moved, they whispered like a wind chime. 

Jack studied the glossy leather of the armour’s crawl and the gentle cracks in the material from over use. Some of those wrinkles were rusted with blood. His blood mostly. It gave the suit it’s own beautiful scent of violence and luxury. Jack could almost see those burning, unblinking amber eyes watching him from above. Jack bit his lip before moving his hand over the front of the belt. 

If there was one thing that Jack had always secretly admired about the Owl, it was his toys. As an inventor; Jack had spent countless hours over the kitchen table of his apartment, on the floor of one of his circus hideouts, or even in his room at Louisiana fiddling with his own collection of utility belts or his grappling teeth clackers. But the Owl was always blessed with something bigger and better. Jack doubted that the Owl himself made it, but he couldn’t deny that the sheer craftsmanship was something unearthly. He clicked it off the armour with a nervous touch. The belt slid in his palm like a serpent. Jack plucked off each tiny pocket gingerly. Sprays, gadgets, knives, guns and funny little tools littered the ground around his feet. 

He tore open the last packet, and out bounced a single card. Jack picked it up and investigated it. It was obvious that plastic strip in his hand wasn’t a credit card or anything as funny as a Walmart club card. It was a simple waver of black plastic without any text or any chip. Jack flicked it thoughtlessly against his nails as he thought mindlessly to himself. He gave the card another look before stuffing it in his back pocket. 

“Jack?” A voice came to him. Jack glanced towards the door as Barbara popped her head over the door frame. Her whiskers twitched as her nose tingled on her nose like a fairy. One of her perfectly pricked ears fluttered carefully as she made her way in the room. 

“Oh” Jack started. “Are you done with Superwoman’s room already?” 

“Oh, no.” Barbara’s long tail twirled in between her graceful, furry legs. “I just wanted to see this place before you make it your own. What’re you thinking? Green, purple, polka dots?” She smiled, but her muzzle jerked ever so slightly. 

“So you didn’t come to check up on me?” 

“What? Oh no, no. I just wanted to see if it was as scary as Dave said it would be.” Barbara voiced. Her claw clicked against the ribs of the macabre marble statuette of a male body arching his naked belly up as the stump of his neck disappeared into the wood of the coffee table. 

“This place isn’t that scary. I’ve been to the Owl’s Nest. This place is actually pretty tasteful for him.” Jack’s voice wavered. The memory of cold steel against his back as the Owl’s candlelight eyes bore into his soul made his skin prickle. The smell of blood, the screams, the trophies taken off the corpses of his friends hung on the walls flooded back into his brain. Jack shook his head like a dog. “I guess that Superwoman didn’t want to be fucked in a room that reminded her what he’s capable of.” 

“I doubt that. She’s the biggest psychopath of them all.” Barbara trailed. Suddenly her nose and her ears twinged wildly. Her slitted eyes scanned the table. Her head moved in carefully janked movements with the same manner she uses when she’d hunt alligators and herons back in Louisiana. Jack missed Dave’s alligator gumbo and Leonard's turtle stew. 

Then Barbara threw the book at him. Literally. With a quick toss, Jack felt the small black notebook thump against his chest. He scrambled to catch it. He took the book in his hands and wary looked at Barbara. 

“I found it under the table. What is it?” 

“It’s one of his notebooks. He likes to write and scribble his ideas down. He likes to draw mainly.” Jack said, holding the book closely to his chest. 

“A journal? That sounds far too traditional for a man like Wayne.” 

Jack ignored her and flickered through the book. Disgustingly detailed sketches of pieces of organs littered every corner of each page with gentlemanly notes next to them. Nothing surprising. Each sketch was beautiful, done by a carefully trained hand. No shading was over done and no lines were smudged. Jack wondered how long the Owl took on every piece. The idea of the Owl bent over a table, those focused eyes pinned on a page as his pencil scribbling in every element made Jack’s airways tighten. He turned a page. 

Jack’s blood turned into ice. Sketched in the page were familiar skinny limbs twisted into snarled angles with an anorexic ribcage crooked upwards as glistening entrails dripped from an open belly. The eyes were glassy and obviously lifeless. The hair was matted with a few precisely placed patches of blood were shaded in. Jack could see his own famously delighted smile stretched over his drawn lips. He could hear Jokester laughing in the back of his head, urging him to dive deeper. So he did. 

The next page had head-shot studies in various poses. One was of his face perfectly framed with planted bruises and a broken nose. The next was of his jaw hanging open as blood and chipped teeth flooded his mouth. The one after had a cracked in skull that left a large crater that allowed his brains to drool out. 

But the next page was the scariest one of all. It wasn’t murderous, it didn’t display him as a corpse or even tied up in a dead trap, the sketch on the page was a very shabbily done – Jack noticed the slight wrinkles in the paper – made by wet patches, the messy smudges that damaged the art, and the slight dents left by the Owl’s talons. It was a hurried study of him; Jack, not the Jokester, in a cafe booth watching as the rain outside trickled over the window with a cup of coffee in front of him. Nothing more, nothing else. Jokester’s laughing got louder. 

Did the Owl know, or was he did he just happen to select Jack Napier as another worthy conquest? Oh Hell’s Holy Bells, how much did the Owl know? What about Jack Napier’s children? How long would it take the Owl to piece together that Jason and Duela where living their civilian lives as Buddy and Louise Napier? He swallowed, quietly closed the book and placed it back on the table. 

“What is it?” 

“Oh, nothing. Just his little doodles.” 

“Maybe we should take a break” Barbara smiled. “I know I’m hungry, when was the last time you ate?” 

Jack couldn’t honestly answer. He looked towards Barbara with a dramatic little shrug. She rolled her eyes playfully.

“Thought so, come on let’s-” Suddenly, Barbara’s ears flicked up to attention. Her nose triggered.

Barbara shuffled around the room, moving her paws methodically. Her nose twitching with the bouncy reflexes of a heart monitor, her ears sharply back, and her eyes narrowed. Jack knew that face meant hunting. He watch Barbara’s front paw stroked a section of wall on the far side of the room as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She sniffed at the wall.

“Have you been near here?” She asked. 

“Not yet”

“And you haven’t cut yourself?” 

“Ah, no, jeez, I know I’m a clumsy guy but I can take care of myself.” 

Barbara scrapped her claw over the wall and pressed her nose against it. Her nose quaking angrily, like a nasty cold. She clawed at the wall ferociously, trying to undercover what it was that was causing that scent. It was very familiar, metallic with a tint of candyfloss with a sprinkling of gasoline and gunpowder. Barbara bore her teeth, tail flickering, and her teeth started to chatter like one of Jack’s infamous clackers. Suddenly her ears pricked up quickly. Her claws clicked over the tiny black box hidden in the shadows of the bedside drawers. Jack saw the excitement brewing in her split eyes. 

Automatically, Jack placed his hand on her back, smoothing her fur gently. He walked up to the box, placed the card on the box and marvelled as the wall opened up before him. Barbara gasped besides him. His stomach stormed with giddy delight as his chest humped in a coming panic. 

It was like staring into his own lost and found, but it was all neatly displayed. His old coat was delicately hung up on the wall, surrounded by dozens of newspaper clippings there were carefully pressed in tight individual frames. Jack traced the red splatters on the right sleeve, the drops of oil next the smily face pin, and the polka dot patch that Harley sewn up for him. His finger stopped, his old punching gun was pinned up on the sidewall. He couldn’t help but smile, it was one of his first inventions. It hardly ever worked, but it did give the Owl a wallop once or twice. 

Locked tight in a glass box next to the punching glove was his old throwing cards; the playing ones with the extra sharp edges. Jack didn’t like knives any more, he preferred to use guns now – they’re quick, cleaner in the right places, and made a merciful death. But back in the day, before Jokester existed, he used these cards. They probably saved his life quite a few times, but he couldn’t remember. 

There a comedy poster too, from one of the nights that Jackie Napier had performed at. Jack stopped breathing for a moment. Harvey claimed that back in the day, before he lost his memory, Jack had to give up his day-job as a worker at ACE chemicals when a social worker brought a one year old Duela to his door after Evelyn was placed in an asylum somewhere down south. With a very young daughter suddenly launched onto his lap, Jackie had to spend his days taking care of her and nights at the Last Laugh making money the only way he thought he could. Harvey told him that his act sucked, but he was brave enough say things how they were. That people were more than happy to throw money at him for his commentary, just to hear someone say it. 

Jack sighed, he saw a little jar on the shelf tucked away in the corner of the door. He examined it as a little chorale juggled in his throat. Floating in the glass was a human kidney. 

“Judas...” Barbara said gaspingly beside him. 

It was weird, staring at it all. Jack could recall seeing the massive playing card the Owl had displayed in his Nest, hung up in his honour. But he couldn’t remember any other trinkets of his the Owl kept. This must have been his stash, his own little private shrine. Jack would of laughed at it all if it wasn’t so… 

“Jack..” 

Barbara had her paw in the depths of the hidden room. She looked worried, terrified by what she found. 

Her paw had pushed the coat aside carefully, there head to toe, shattered over the wall were photographs of Jack. Just Jack. Like the sketch before, but these photos were not of him just going about his day or pretending to be the club singer at The Titanic Lounge. No. They were of Jack in his apartment. There were dozens of them; Jack sleeping soundly in his bed, Jack watching TV with Jason and Duela, Jack hanging out his laundry, Jack twiddling with his tools over a utility belt, Jack playing with his chemistry set, Jack washing himself in the shower. 

In the middle of them all was a single painting. A painting that was professionally done by a beautifully skilled artist, one that would make a lot of money on doing his own pieces. It was shunning and tasteful actually. Jack had never seen himself so sensual before. He didn’t even realise it was him before he noted the strokes of violet dotted over the canvas. A naked upper torso with skin like icing sugar, twisting like a model on the cover of Vogue. Long perfect hands stroking a swallow red line over his swan neck. Red juice was leaking from the figure’s dainty purple lips as his bright minty eyes fluttered under long lashes. The board swishes that made up that blackcurrant hair were trifled together like cream on a patisserie cake. In deep red on the left hand was that carbon copy of the Owl’s brand. 

Well, what’s up with that?

Jack started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 3, I don't think it's my best chapter and I'm not the best writer in the world. But it's 3am and I edited this. I'm glad people have been enjoying this work to be honest. I needed the practice.


	4. Chapter 4: In Your Wildest Dreams - The Reverend Horton Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks, I know that this chapter has taken me like two months or something but I was extremely busy with getting my shit together and possibly being a grown up for once in my life. I know this chapter is a bit wavy and whatnot, but I promise the next chapter will be better and some actual plot will happen. 
> 
> Please comment if you like this garbage, a comment always cheers me up.

Chapter 4: In Your Wildest Dreams – The Reverend Horton Heat 

Maybe it was the fact he hadn’t slept in two weeks or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t eaten much the last few days but it must have been one of the two. He hadn’t been feeling his jolly old self. That was the logical reasoning behind it and Jack was never good at looking after himself. Jack could remember when Harleen would swish her hips towards the kitchen table where he would be too engaged in an experiment just to him sharply to eat something before he passed out. Jack looked up towards the dotted sky and wondered for a second what she would think of him if she could see him now. Jack didn’t dwell on that thought. He was too busy trying not to fall to his death as he swung from one buildings to the other with his clackers.

It was Thursday and just like every other Thursday, it was his night for patrol. But his head wasn’t in the game tonight. 

Jack landed on the rooftop to Mayor’s Sionis’s office and crouched down to his knees. He watched with a bored glance at Gotham. Her lights sparkled in the night like perfect little stars as the delicately stylish blend of her modern skyscrapers and artistic Victorian era buildings sheltered them. The moon shone in her fresh waters, clear enough that children could paddle through the swallows and play with the fish. For the first time, her streets were pristine, the trash was cleaned up and the homeless taken care of. It was as if Gotham’s veins were cleared of cholesterol or some toxic virus. Crime slithered back from whatever pit it spawn from and left a happy place that was fit enough to raise children and support families. It was a garden fit for Lord Lucifer himself, an Eden, as Alex called it after his last visit. 

Mayor Sionis should be proud, he transformed Gotham. Jack should be proud. 

Gotham had never been more beautiful. But Jack had never been more out of love with her. 

Jack sighed as he ruffled his jacket as the cold started to set in. The night was so quiet that Jack couldn’t stand it. He was just left to drown in his own head as his city selfishly functioned perfectly. He felt the scuffle of the roof under his finger. He idly traced an oval as he hoped the Smile Symbol would light up in the sky. 

Suddenly, a quick shadow crashed over him. Rapidly with arms open, smile on, mallet at the ready; Jack twisted around to see... 

A light cloud floating across the moon. His shoulders fell in defeat as he watched the cloud calmly pass on by with all the grace of a soap bubble. That familiar bubbling of guilt started to boil in the pit of his guts again. It tickled his stomach like an illness and clawed at his senses like a cat in a cage. He hated it. It wasn’t like the rush of perfect panic that primal survival spoilt him with. No. This new sense was sickly and had utterly replaced whatever it was that compelled him to dress like a clown every night. 

He missed frantically throwing on his green suit, shedding his everyday face and slapping on a lather of lipstick over a gleeful grin. He missed spending countless hours staring at his bedroom wall, excitedly linking together newspaper clippings and photographs with red string. He missed the adrenaline of greedily chasing shadows down alleys. He missed the roaring the veins, the burning in his lungs, the tick in his heart like it was one beat away from exploding. His missed the crack of his bones. He missed the taste of blood on his tongue. He missed being in pain. He missed laughing. 

Something was missing and Jack knew damn well what it was. 

Lucifer please forgive him. 

Jack went home and crawled into his bed. 

\- 

“Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen.” Jackie Napier called into the microphone at the last beat of the drum. His long limbs bent over his torso in a lanky bow as the sound of audience clapping graced his ears. Jack cleared his throat, adjusting his tie before singling the band to play without him. 

The ballroom was simply stunning. That full marble beautiful chessboard floor allowed hundreds of perfect swirling figures to waltz around like nothing else in the world mattered. Jack had watched them blend together like paint on a canvas, just marvelling in their grace. He smiled despite himself when the sparkling gold and jewels lit up in under the rich candlelight. He loved it – the white cotton tables, the feathered roses in huge vases, and the shine of the silverware. He couldn’t help himself. How could he? He knew what he was and they knew he didn’t really belong here. But for the moment he stood on the stage, he was allowed to soak up their radiance. Just for tonight. 

“Mr Napier, I believe?” A voice asked. It was strong, smooth as dark chocolate. It cut through the music bluntly. Jack’s mouth dried up like a desert at his mere presence. Thomas Wayne Jr hovered over him like a God. No, like one of Abraham's vicious angels with that square jaw and the frame of dark hair curling into his face. A slither of sweat snaked down Jack’s neck as he locked on with Wayne’s raiding gaze. Jack politely removed his hanky from his sleeve and dabbed his neck as carefully as possibly. 

“I am he and you must be my very graceful host.” Jack smiled weakly, stuffing the hanky back into his sleeve. Wayne rested on hand on his hip, lips pursed in amusement. 

Jack had seen Wayne’s picture on the cover of all those magazines as he passed the newsagent back from a night of patrolling. On paper, Wayne was just ink, a man made out of plastic that was designed by his company to push his brand, gossip rags, and impossible dreams. Jack would always evert his eyes as his cheeks redden, focusing instead on Fishing Monthly as he swung along the rooftops. But his eyes would always trail back to Wayne’s handsome jaw and that cocky smile. 

“How nice that my reputation proceeds me.”

“Oh everyone in Gotham knows about you, Mr Wayne.” Jack said honestly, turning his back on Wayne as he fiddled with his microphone stand. Everyone knew about the Waynes and the unspoken tragedy behind the name. Jack licked his lip loosely, distracting himself from Wayne’s rich, malty cologne. 

“That makes two of us. I must say Mr Napier, I never heard a man with a voice like yours before. What made you want to sing?” 

“Mr Copplepot said that I was a terrible comedian and this was a much better use of my voice.”Jack mused and tried his best to smile innocently. He was rewarded with the chime of Wayne’s rattling laugh, it was swallow and soulless. 

“Do you dance Mr Napier?” Wayne asked suddenly, carefully perking an eyebrow. Those whiskey eyes were boring down on him, like they were trying to drive him to drink or push his head under water. 

“Dance?” Jack asked. 

“Yes, dance. You’re a showman, I take it that you can dance.” 

“I can dance.” Jack said adamantly. Judas, he could recall all the times Harleen had spent with trying to teach him the waltz with his huge, clumsy feet. It was a miracle he could even pull off the most basic of gymnastics, and that was only down to Harleen’s relentless training. 

“Would you like to dance with me?” Jack’s breath hitched as his heart fluttered violently in his ribcage like a carny finding out why he was in the coal mine. Wayne’s slim smile glitz down at him. A warning, Jack thought. He brushed his auburn hair back, smiled politely, and silently prayed to Lucifer that the bright lights didn’t melt his foundation off. 

“The host isn’t meant to dance with the entertainment, Mr Wayne. I suggest Miss Kyle or Miss Vale to be better dance partners.” Jack stated, smiling but not daring to show his teeth. He watched as Wayne frowned silently. “Excuse me for saying this Mr Wayne, but a male dance partner maybe the kinda thing that would spread around pretty quickly in this town.” 

Wayne inhaled through his nose patiently, turning the ice cubes in his tumbler glass. “I want to let you in on a little secret Mr Napier.” His powerful body moved with all the grace of a big cat; silent, calculated, and predatory. Jack couldn’t help but bite at the inside of his cheek, tracing the scar with the side of his tongue as Wayne loomed over him and placed his mouth to his ear. “I tend to do what I want.” 

Well, that did it. Jack knees betrayed him as they bucked weakly under his weight. He pulled the corners of his forest green jacket and shook his head before finding himself brave enough to open his eyes. “I’m sure you do Mr. Wayne.” Jack respond, dusting his gloves over his velvet suit. “But I’m sure you can find someone else to entertain you tonight.” 

“You are the entertainment, Mr. Napier. I had Alfred hire you specially. I heard news from around town that you are the best and I must say, I wasn’t disappointed.” 

Jack swallowed, a flush of heat spread on his cheeks. He clenched his fists and crunched his teeth. “Thank you, Mr Wayne. That’s very high praise coming from a man like yourself” he said. Wayne leaned him arm over Jack’s shoulder to place his glass on the side of a table with the slow, cautious movement of a hunter. He darted his eyes back at Jack with a deadly smile. 

“Dance with me, Mr Napier.” 

“No thank you, Mr Wayne.” 

“Oh, I insist.” Wayne smirked, stealing another step. Jack puffed out his chest bravely, using his long body to twist his spine up straight. 

“Mr Wayne, I think-” Wayne’s strong hands clasped him, fingers digging into his shoulders like the talons of a bird. Wayne dragged him to the dance floor unceremoniously. Voices tittered around them as Wayne clicked his fingers at the musicians who were just staring at the two men, baffled. Wayne gave them a curious nod. The music began. Was that Schubert? 

They moved slowly at first. It was Wayne’s style; steady and slow, careful and calculated. Jack thought for a second if that style was meant to protect Wayne from the avalanche of lawsuits that would come his way or if Wayne was just a romantic. 

Now he was this close, he suddenly understood. Jack knew that jaw, he knew that beaked nose, and those haunting, soul sucking, wide blown, never blinking eyes. Jack sucked in a breath and squeezed Wayne’s clammy hand tighter while Wayne’s talons dug sharply into his hip. Wayne twirled him around the marble floor, placing a step extremely close to Jack’s shoe, closing the gap between them. Wayne’s hot breath bounced off Jack’s lips. Wayne circled him like a lion out on the hunt. The crowd around them made disapproving chitters as they moved; unimpressed and disgusted by their game. Jack ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed solidly on Wayne. Jack swallowed the excited squeak as he felt sliding in his throat as Wayne’s hand graze just above the back of his trousers. 

Jack knew him inside out – from the tippy top of his pointed ears to the soles on his feet. The way that Wayne’s head twitched in surgical movements as they danced meant only one thing: Wayne was analysing him, stripping him apart like a piece of meat in the butcher's window. Wayne was searching his face, trying to find a crack or maybe a trace of familiarity he could dig his teeth into. Jack smiled sweetly, twisting his fingers tighter in Wayne’s fist. 

Maybe it was little suicidal, or it was that sick part of Jack’s brain that got an almost sexual kick out of ruining the Owl’s plans that made him lunge forward on his toes. He pushed himself towards Wayne, breaking them from the little waltz Wayne was leading and plunged them both in the clumsy start of a tango. Jack couldn’t help put bask in his victory as Wayne blinked for just a quick nanosecond. That look of surprise suited him. But it always had. Wayne reeled back his footing. Jack stole a step forward with a playful grin. Wayne brushed a misplaced strand of hair back and huffed charmingly. 

“I must admit Mr Napier, I never had a dance partner like you before” Wayne purred in false amusement, allowing Jack to continue the tango. Jack flashed his long lashes at him before twisting on his heel, hurling his hip flamboyantly, and forced the Owl into backing up. 

“Do you mean that I’m the first man that you danced with or is it something else?” Jack mused, stretching his grin a little. He could feel the scars under his make up twitching. Wayne flicked his wrists and charged forward powerfully, pushing Jack back. Jack stumbled, ungracefully flailing to the floor. The Owl swooped, scooping his catch up in his claws. 

“You challenge me, I like that. It’s been a while since anyone has had the balls to do that.” Wayne smirked, leering down at the prey in his arm. Jack gripped his fingers into Wayne’s board shoulder, pressing his mouth in a line. The room started to titter again, whispering like ghosts. 

“You must have had other people to dance with.” Jack panted, Wayne forced him back on his feet and against his mighty chest. Jack’s cheeks burnt as he felt the muscular shifting under Wayne’s handsome suit. 

“In the past, yes. But none of them were as compelling as you. It’s as if I had to dance with you. It feels natural, the way you seem to move perfectly with me. My dance partners, they never seem to keep up. Tell me, Mr Napier, do you believe in fate?” 

“Fate is a God theory. Lucifer said that fate is an invention of a being that wants to tether humans to limits.” Alex had said something like that back in Louisiana. Alex had slumped weakly as he climbed the steps of the porch. He dumped the shovel at the side of the door and said it with a tear rolling down his cheek. Jack had waited for him for three hours on that rotting swing, but didn’t say a word back to him. 

“Fate is just gravity, it pulls us together, and right now it’s pulling me towards you.” Wayne said, spinning Jack out of his arms with all the flare of a romantic. “I know you can feel it too” Wayne tugged his arm back, pulling him back. Jack withered his skinny back against Wayne’s chest and his unrelenting grip. Wayne responded by snatched at Jack’s long jaw and held it tightly like a vice.

“That feeling that your entire life has been building up to a single moment. All the tears, all the bloodshed, it’s all been fate at work. But you already know that, don’t you?” Wayne poisonously cooed into his ear. It stuck into Jack’s head like treacle; sickly, sticky syrup stirring slowly in his skull. A hot breath tickled the shell of Jack’s ear, sending shock waves down his spine. 

Wayne traced a finger alongside one of Jack’s scars. 

CRASH! A thunderous flash of lightening flicked. The windows lit up with white light, blinding Jack for a quick movement. 

They weren’t in Wayne Manor any more; the gorgeous, golden ballroom and cotton table clothes were replaced with a murky rooftop in the pouring rain. The orange glow of the windows loomed among the smog and the grey clouds like candles in a cave. The Smile Symbol loomed among the skyline, grinning down on the city as neon signs flashed pathetically. 

Wayne was gone. He was replaced by the freezing steel of the Owl’s steel feathers and kevlar armour. Jack could feel it. The hard chill of Owlman’s suit shunted against his back as the beak of the Owl’s mask tickled the corner of his shoulder like lace in a beautiful woman’s dress. Jokester shivered as Owlman’s talon ran down his cheek, caressing his scar tissue softly. The Owl pressed in sharply, causing Jokester to gasp as a line of blood dripped from his cheek. Jokester wriggled. But Owlman held him tight, his breath hot on Jokester’s neck. Combined with the Gothamn drizzle, it was enough to keep the clown solid. Jokester stood steadily. Carefully, he traced his hand down the Owl’s hard belly, brushing the tips of his finger over that field of perfect muscles. Jokester bit his lip, trying his best not to get excited as Owlman hitched his breath. He flicked his tongue nervously as giggles started to spill from his mouth. 

“Is that an Owlarang or are you just happy to see me?” 

Owlman threw him off with a might shove and smashed his fist against Jokester’s cheek in a bloody smack. It was followed by another, and then another to his gut, a whack hard enough that made him lurch over. Jokester smirked as a warm, pulsating seed bloomed in his belly. Jokester gasped, like he was recovering from an explosive orgasm. It felt good, he decided. 

It struck Jokester in that single moment. The Owl was in his natural position; in the air, wings out, scowl on his lips, feathers pointing down and ready to strike. The moonlight shone on him like a creature from one of those Grimm stories. Magical, Jokester thought, holding his breath. Just absolute perfection. 

Is this the last thing mice saw when they died? Jokester thought as he opened his arms out. What a wonderful way to die, he decided. 

The Owl flew closer. Jokester licked his lips. He could feel the air brush past his cheek and the first scratch of the Owl’s talon. 

Jokester howled with laugher. 

Jack bolted up from his bed, his lungs burning for air. Trembling, Jack snatched at his sheets. He could feel the sweat rolling down his naked back as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom. He darted them around rapidly, trying to catch his breath. Throwing a hand in his damp hair, Jack shot his head around the room. His eyes bounced around all the corners; looking, scanning, and watching like a cautious rabbit. 

When he came back from his trip to the Watchtower; Jack, Jason, and with the semi drunken supervision of Harvey had gone through the apartment and stripped all the hidden Wayne tech they could find. Alex even scanned it down, just to make sure that they found every single one. But there was always that filthy feeling...

Jack shook his head and combed through the roots of his hair. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach and the throbbing erection peaking up his sheets.


	5. Simple Man - Shinedown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's relationship with Jack over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am actually alive and somewhat kicking. I know that I haven't uploaded in ages but I hope that this long ass chapter makes up for it.

Gotham was always raining. It was something the Red Hood was used to. He couldn’t remember a time he ever saw it not rain in Gotham. Now standing on the edge of the rotting remains of Wayne Industries, he realised how much of a comfort it was. As much as the world has changed for the better over these last few months it was pleasant to remember that some things really do never change. 

Well, he could remember one time where the rain nearly stopped for a second. 

He was a young boy, but old enough to realise that he’s seen and done much more than anyone should of even dreamt of. He was sat in some ghastly cart of a rusted Ferris wheel that the Jokester had put him in for the night. 

“You’re utterly insane” He snarled, growling as Jokester pulled down the bar, smacking the metal down nice and tight. “You can’t just keep me up here! He’ll fucking murder you! I know that mother fucker inside out! I should- ” 

Jack, not the Jokester, placed a finger against his lip. Jason clamped up, swallowing, his throat bopped as a line of sweat dripped down his brow. He calmed his jiggering when a gloved hand combed his hair gently before tugging down a cheap clown Halloween mask over his face. 

“Shush, my little apprentice. I know you’re eager, but it’s too soon to thrust you out on the stage. For now I just want you to watch the show and learn.” Jokester had whispered into his ear a long time ago. The kiss the clown planted on his head still burnt against his temple. A dribble of rain from the Jokester’s wet hair trailed down Jason’s neck. 

“Going up!” The clown cooed, locking the carriage behind him 

-

Maybe that’s why he nearly died when he had his first solo performance. 

The Jokester has an interesting little tactic he always used especially for Owlman. Jason had seen it before, plenty of times actually. Back when he was Raptor, Richard would make him. He would be forced to watch hours and hours of clips off Youtube on the Owlcomputer of Jokester displaying his grand act and all it’s bizarre glory. 

After all those clips, he should of have been used to it. But it was one thing seeing it from the Nest or from the far off distance on a murky rooftop. But it was completely different when you get to see it up close, to see the absolute fury in Owlman’s eyes and hear the grinding of his teeth. 

But seeing it in the flesh was like seeing a ghost, or falling into a religion, or finally getting the punchline of a joke. 

Jason slumped on the ledge, clenching the deep wound deep into his arm. He tried his best to keep steady breathing, no matter how loud his scared panting echoed in his helmet. Jokester loomed over him, gently reassuring Jason with his presence. He whipped off his tie in a quick flurry. 

“See, this is why we wear ties” Jokester said with the warmth of a mother tending to the scrap on her son’s knee as he pointed to the rebellious open collar of the Red Hood. “They’re not only good at hiding your skin colour, but they’re handy for when accidents happen.”

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me.” Jason whimpered, touching Jokester’s reddening gloves with trembling fingers. “You should be focused on getting the antidote to the hospitals” he said, shoving a glass veil into the Jokester’s hand. 

“Don’t talk like that.” Jokester cooed, finishing his work with a tight bow and a kiss. “We are still going to have a talk about this-” Jokester tapped his knuckle against the dome of the helmet “-when we get home, young man” 

“I-” Jason was cut off by the loud screeching of metal being torn apart by powerful claws somewhere close. Oh. Oh no. Jason started to gasp again as he saw the worried look in Jokester’s bright green eyes. 

“He’s mad” Jason gasped, still holding his weak arm. Jokester ruffled his hair gently, shoving the veil roughly against Jason chest. He placed a kiss on his forehead down as the padding of furious marching thundered just below their feet. 

“Be good” The clown brushed his thumb over Jason’s cheek so tenderly that it shook Jason to the core. 

“What – Jack?!” Jason babbled. “Don’t!” But it was too late, he heard the Owl’s angry panting steady for a minute, transforming into a furious growl as Jokester landed below with a graceful swish. Jason pathetically crawled towards the pillars, left to watch helplessly as his mentor straightened his bow and fix his hair as the monster prowled closer to him. 

“Hey there, Lover!” Jokester sang merrily, brushing a careless strand of purple hair out his eyes. “You looking for a good time?” 

“You” Owlman hissed. Jason notice how his fingers flexed like a pulse, he even believed he heard the knuckles crack. Jason clasped a hand over the mouth of his hood as his stomach instinctively retched. “I should of know you’d have something to do with this, Freak.” 

“Me? Oh Lover, what have I done to upset you now?” 

“Where is the new Red Hood?” 

“New Red Hood? Oh you mean that young man who stole my old act, oh silly me. Lover. I don’t recall- ack!” The Owl lurched forward, grabbing the clown by his throat and hoisting him high in the air. Jokester wriggled in his relentless grip like a dying fish, squirming hopelessly for some air as he gasped something.

“Repeat that Freak.” 

“Ha- ha – harder!” 

“Freak!” Owlman’s rentless talons gripped tighter making Jokester gurgle in a masochistic glee. Desperately, Jason picked up the nearest thing he could find and chucked a stone across the room. Holding his breath, swallowing as the stone bounced off against the floor. The Owl tossed his head back, dropping the clown.

“What was that?” He snarled. 

“Your balls?” Jokester smirked. Owlman kicked the Jokester in the ribs. The clown giggled merrily, spitting up little clots of blood. “Oh what was it that Shakespeare wrote again? My Master’s eyes are nothing like the moon?” 

“Enough.” The Owl growled, pressing his boot into the Jokester’s side. “You are going to tell me where the new Red Hood is before I lose my patience.” Jokester practically purred as Owlman grinded his soles into his arm roughly. Jason felt his stomach churn, urging him to bolt. 

“You know this is the first time in forever that we had any time to ourselves since the kids came along. Why don’t we go back to yours, open a bottle of shiraz and maybe cuddle on-” A swift boot in the face was enough to crack the clown’s long nose and another flooding of chuckles. “Okay, I get it. I know Lover, you were never the domestic type. But as I was saying, lets move this party to yours, uh? Just you and me and all those toys of yours in your dungeon. You can punish me all night long if you want. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” 

Jason held his breath, taking another stone in his hand, rubbing it in between his fingers to came his nerves. He knew in his blood what the Jokester was doing but hearing another bone chilling crunch and his mentor’s almost euphoric gasp planted him in place. 

“As much as I enjoy torturing you. I have much bigger plans to operate.”

“It’s always work with you, you never make any time for us any more! You don’t even hit me like you used to! Maybe I should go and see Ultraman, I bet he knows how- Oh Yes!” With another hard blow to his head, the Jokester shivered in delight, smiling up at the Owl with blood dripping through his plastic teeth. The Owl frowned. 

“You’ve wasted enough of my time, Freak.” With a final whack, Owlman smashed the Jokester’s face under his boot, hard enough that the clown was starting to see stars. The clown glanced up at him, his obedient, loving smile was still oozing blood. 

The Jokester watched with his warm, minty eyes as the Owl stepped away, producing his grappling gun. He flopped himself round, dangling his feet like a teenaged girl on her bed. He sighed longingly, tracing a finger along the filth. drawing love hearts idly. His gooey smile dropped the seconded he saw a flash of red at the perch where Jason was still hiding, where the Owl was about to fire his gun. 

“Hey tall, dark, and brutal!” 

The Owl turned around. The Jokester tried his best to get back on his feet, his old bones click back into place and they melded together like liquid. It was stolen little moments like this that Jason wondered if that alkaline bath gave his mentor some kind of ridiculous healing property. The Jokester stepped forward, twitching himself back into shape like those beat downs were just swept off dust on his shoulders. That bright green coat of his fluttered like glitter in the pale moonlight. 

“I’m so into you, I can barely breathe... and all I wanna do is fall in deep” The Jokester started, cooing that voice of his lightly, bending his skinny arms out as he sang quietly. The Owl cocked his head. Jason twitched with embarrassment. 

“But close aint close enough til we cross the line,  
so name the game the play and I’ll roll the dice...  
oh baby look what you started, the temperature's rising,  
is this gonna happen? Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move,  
before I make a move...” 

The Jokester’s eyes suddenly became bright, shinning like two naughty emeralds that Jason would used to see in classy museums, the type he crawl over glass to steal for his old master. A very coy smile was plastered over those violet lips. Whatever it was about Jokester’s jiggling and prancing, it was enough. As if someone had waved Ultraman’s red cape under his beak nose, the Owl suddenly snarled and abandoned the perch. The Owl started to step towards the clown, pulling out an owlarang out of his belt. 

“So, baby, come light me up, and, baby, I'll let you on it  
A little bit dangerous, but, baby, that's how I want it  
A little less conversation and a little more touch my body  
'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you..." 

The Jokester started to twitch into his old performance, flexing and concorting into clumsy gymastics. The Owl moved closer, raising his weapon above his head slowly. Jokester moved like a ragdoll as he swished his lithe hips. He dodged the first owlarang easily, waggling his tongue provocatively. He jolted back as if he was dancing on strings at Owlman’s first punch. Jason interlay cringed when Jokester started to giggle with his singing. 

"Got everyone watchin' us, so, baby, let's keep this secret  
A little bit scandalous, but, baby, don't let them see it.." 

“Shut the fuck up, Clown!” 

"A little less conversation and a little more touch my body  
'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you, oh, yeah...” Jokester jeered, stroking his tiny waist, patting his skinny arse. The Owl gave a bullish huff. Like his namesake had found a tasty white mouse out in the field, he swept his cape up and charged forward. 

"This could take some time, hey  
Made too many mistakes  
Better get this right, right, baby...” 

Jokester danced like a sloppy drunk with his loose limbs. He had all the grace of a wet noodle, aimlessly flopping around as the Owl tried again and again to tear into his skin. With every vicious lash, the clown would flip and jive himself out of the way in the nick of time. Owlman would slash expertly at his leg only for it to be thrown away from him, then he would attack the clown’s throat, only for that to be jolted back. It was crazy to think how much Jokester reminded Jason of those old 1920 black and white cartoons with the water hose limbs. If Harleen could see how Jack was using her lessons, she’d probably weep and then give his ear a box. But it with every missed gash it was plunging the Owl deeper and deeper into his tightly encaged rage. 

“So, baby, come light me up, and, baby, I'll let you on it  
A little bit dangerous, but, baby, that's how I want it  
A little less conversation and a little more touch my body  
'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you..." 

Finally the Owl got a hit in as the clown purred his last note. Punching the clown squarely in the stomach, the Jokester lurched over suddenly. The Owl used the chance to strike down, whacking the Jokester across the skull. The clown reeled back, Owlman smirked poisonously and punched him again across the jaw. 

“Got nothing to say now, do you Freak?”

Jokester just smirked, his teeth dripping with blood. He slowly flexed back into shape. Daringly he started clicking his fingers, keeping his eyes fixed on Owlman as he sidestepped every blow the Owl was giving him. He leaped on the altar and started to wriggle around like a worm on a hook. 

“Tell me what you came here for  
'Cause I can't, I can't wait no more  
I'm on the edge with no control  
And I need, I need you to know  
You to know, oh...” 

The clown howled every note, using the altar was his stage. 

“I am going to kill you. Slowly.” 

“Oh if you wanted me so badly Lover, you’re going to have to come and catch me!” The Jokester giggled, stopping his saccharine pop song for a moment. He teasingly pulled one of his trouser legs up and flashing the Owl his sock garter. Owlman gritted his teeth, turning his lip up in disgust. 

The clown bounced down from his stage and started to skip around the church merrily like a kid in a candy store. 

“So come light me up  
So come light me up, my baby  
Little dangerous  
A little dangerous, my boy  
A little less conversation and a little more touch my body  
'Cause I'm so into you, into you, into you...” 

Jason heard the last few lines of the Jokester’s joyous singing and the Owl’s stomping boots echo through the church did he feel it was safe enough to breath again. Once he noticed that all the green was gone down the hall that Jason had the bravery to move at all. He moved quickly, finding his way out of the ruined church and across the city towards Gotham General Hospital under the cover of darkness. 

As he ran carefully, he could of swore he heard the Jokester’s breathy cackling coo in the streets.

Getting home was much easier, all he had to do was keep his head down and pray in that tragic little pit he called a heart that the Owl was too focus with the clown to come down on him. Jason chided at himself for thinking like that, for thinking like a Talon. 

As soon as he could back to the apartment the first thing he did was sat down on that ratty old bed of his and took the hood off. Jason stared at his reflection for what felt like hours, feeling utterly disgusted with himself. 

“You alright, Son?” Jack said to him, appearing in the doorway with a brand new black eye and a half full bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand. 

“I’m not fit to hand your mantle.” 

“Not fit?” 

“You saw how I was tonight. I failed you.” 

“You got the antidote to the hospital. You really showed old Owlsie what-for!” Jack smirked, jumping and playfully punching the air. “Do you know how many lives you saved tonight?” 

“I failed. I faulted. I cowered in fear. If I did that when I was Raptor I would have been killed!” Jason howled, chucking his helmet across his bed. The bed squeaked painfully as he planted himself down face first on the mattress. 

Jack stood in the doorway in silence, looking at down at the boy. Quietly he picked up the red helmet and sat lightly on the bed so gently that the bed hardly dented with the added weight. His wiry white fingers started to pull at the rusted bow tie. “Do you want to know how many lives you saved tonight?” 

Jason sighed. “I don’t know.” He said mumbling into his pillow. 

“Two hundred and seven. You have saved two hundred and seven lives tonight, young man.” Jason twitched lightly, but refused to move. “You have saved two hundred and seven lives, on your debut! I’m so proud of you, Songbird.” 

“What’s the point of just saving them when I can’t even protect them?” Jason sulked, plucking at his pillow. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, how long until he strikes again? He’ll only come back angrier than before! I know what he’s going to do. He’s gonna go back home, slap his new kid around and then plot something worse and I can’t, I don’t even have the guts to fight him! Lord! If I can’t even face him, how am I ever going to be a real hero? I’m as cowardly as Power Ring!” 

Jack rubbed his back softly. “You got your first bout of stage fright. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay!” He cried. “I clammed up! I ran away! I bitched out! I’m nothing like you Jack. I’m never going to be anything like you.” Jason gripped strands of hair in fingers. “I never ever did this when I was Raptor! What the fuck is wrong with me?!” 

“Jason, it’s okay to be scared. After everything he did to you-”

“I just- I just-fucking!” Jason started to thrash around on his bed, pulling at his hair manically. Jack frowned, he started to rub Jason’s back gently. 

“Hey...shush, shush, shush...” 

“I’m fucking pathetic. I couldn’t even look at him without pissing myself.”

“Jay… do you know how scared I was when I first faced him?” 

“Do you?” Jason snarled the obvious question, staring at the clown over his shoulder. “Do you even remember it?” 

Jack just quietly laughed to himself like he always did whenever Jason caught him doing something he shouldn’t. Jack clicked open the bottle. Producing one of his handkerchiefs from his sleeve, Jack dripped a splash of whiskey on the fabric. 

“This is gonna sting, just a warning.” Jason just shrugged. He bit his lip sharply as soon as the alcohol touched his wound. 

“Ow!”

“I warned you.” Jack jived with a grin, dabbing more whiskey onto the rag. “You can take a drink if you want.” 

“I’m only eighteen.” 

“You saved two hundred and seven lives tonight. You can have a drink. It’ll dull the pain-” Jack brandished the bottle in front of Jason’s face. Jason snatched it and taking a cold, long swallow, he suddenly coughed as the alcohol burnt his throat like a wildfire. Jack just laughed again. “-and it would loosen your tongue. Alright, mister. Why in the name of Judas did you think it was a good idea to run around Gotham in your prom suit and my old get up?” 

Jason shrugged again. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Do you remember how scared you where when you first saw him?”

Jack leant back and whished the whiskey around in his hand. He quietly took a tiny sip, taking a moment to think. “I don’t remember much, but I remember that night. It haunts my dreams, you know. I know that I was a cocky little thing. Maybe I became the Red Hood because I was a young dad and I didn’t want Duela to grow up in a city where some rich nutter dresses up as a bird every night and slaughters the peasants for sport. Maybe I had some grand sense of justice. Maybe it was because I was just looking for laughs. I don’t know. But I know that I was terrified. I remember I was being backed on that crappy old bridge, and he was glaring at me. I threw something at him, he dodged it, he threw something at me, then I dodged it...then he bounced up and did that thing – you know when he lands on your chest and pushes you back and propels himself back. I fell and I screamed. I mean I really screamed. I screamed for my life. I screamed so loud that the last thing I saw before I landed in that vat was him, smirking down at me. I thought I was going to die.” 

Jason’s seaweed eyes glanced up him as he watched the clown fold a strip of clean linen over his lap. “But you didn’t die. You’re not even scared any more.” 

“No, I’m scared. I’m scared every time I face him. I’m scared of what he’ll do you, Duela, Harv... but I’m not scared of my own death. I’m not scared because I guess it would feel right. My death would mean something. It would be funny too. If I died because of a heart attack or I slipped into a diabetic coma it would really ruffle his feathers.” 

“You know damn well I’m going to let that happen.” 

“You should. He’d be so mad.” Jack chuckled, rolling the linen over Jason’s strong arm expertly. For the first time that evening, Jason smiled. He shifted himself on his stomach and held his pillow close to his bed. 

“If you think that’s an excuse to let you eat nothing but sugar, you can think again. I made a promise and I’m going to keep it.” 

“Only heroes keep promises. Besides it’s hard to eat healthy when we have no sun.” 

“I’ll trade something at Pam’s tomorrow” Jason sighed. “Do you think I’ll be as good as you one day? Do you think that I can join the Legion of Justice one day?” 

“Join the Legion? Oh my sweet little apprentice, baby steps. You just leaped out the frying pan and into the fire! You’re not ready yet.” 

“I had a feeling you would say that.” He sulked, Jason faced his bedroom wall and looked at his collection of yellowing news clippings. He scrunched a bundle of his thin blanket in his fist. “When will I be ready?” He said lowly. 

“Not yet.” Jack hummed, brushing a section of black hair out of Jason’s eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’m not saying this because of your hiccup tonight. Crime fighting’s like whiskey, the first taste is the worse because it tastes like toxic waste but as you take another few sips, you start to taste the flavours and the burning becomes a sensation.” He shook the liquid in Jason’s face playfully. Groaning, Jason took the bottle and gingerly took another hit. Jack giggled as he puttered the alcohol out of his lips. 

“That tastes awful.” 

“Consider that a punishment.” Jack yawned, stretching out his body. “Besides, you need to feel what it really means to be a hero before you can join the others.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I could tell you to ask Johnny or that you’ll understand when you’re older but I’m not. I’m just not going to tell you yet.” Jack smiled, wrinkling his nose like he was some sort of teasing pixie. “Get some sleep, Jay Junior.” 

“I hate when you call me that.” Jason grinned, shaking his head. Jack patted his back and strung up to his feet like a spring lamb and waltzed out the room. He picked up the helmet and clicked off the light as he did. 

\- 

Jason only understood what his mentor meant by “the feeling” when he had his first solo mission outside of Gotham. It was two days after his twenty-first birthday and the weather was so warm that he was just in his white dinner shirt and a waistcoat made out of sweat. He was stood in the golden vault deep under the bank in Central City. He was half away decrypting the code on Thomas Wayne Jr’s personal account before a red arrow pierced his wrist. Hissing in pain, Jason instinctively snatched at his gun and shot in the direction of a stray twinkle in the corner of the room. 

The unforgettable squishy click of bone and flesh greeted Jason’s ears as well as a somewhat pathetic mumble of a curse. The bullet hit. Jason heaved up his gun and jostled his finger against the trigger. 

“Come out or I’ll shoot” He ordered, squaring up his shoulders like he saw Harvey do when he takes on a petty crook. 

In a flurry of fancy gymnastics, a handsome young man in all red quickly flipped down from one of the lights in the far corner of the vault. Jason eyed him for a moment, top to bottom. The costume was leather, light weight, and left nothing to the imagination – “tacky” as Jack would tell him with a “gimp suit” from Mr Copplepot in the background. 

“You really shouldn’t be playing with things that don’t belong to you.” The strange smirked, a coy smile hung on his face as gracefully as a jewelled belt on a model and not caring in the slightest that his arm was bleeding or that he had a gun pointed at him. Cheeky bastard.

“You shouldn’t of brought a bow and arrow to a gun fight.” 

The stranger looked at the gun and laughed with a purr, holding his arms up in a mocked surrender as he slid his back against the vault door. “Does the clown know you’re out? Kids your age such still be playing with their toys, while they can...” 

Jason growled, shoving the barrel of the gun into the stranger’s jaw. “Yes.” Jason gritted, nashing his teeth. “You should be grateful, since the Jokester knows I’m here that means I can’t spray your vile brain all over the wall.” 

The stranger raised an eyebrow and darted his eyes causally down the gun. With all the patience of an experienced mother, touched his fingertip on the edge of the gun and carefully eased it out of the way. “Easy tiger, take it easy. You’re a bit eager to get into that type of fun, huh? Not like most of those baby faced heroes.” 

The stranger wriggled his eyebrows and flashed a dazzling grin while the gun in Jason’s shook. “I like that. Not so innocent and goodie are you? Tell you what kid, until next time.” With a playful snort, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Jason to regain his composer. It was only once the stranger’s footsteps where fully gone did Jason hear the disturbing sound of his decrypter tick. 

He crawled out of the sewer just in time to see the bank of Central City blazing up into a flurrying explosion. 

It was then that the Red Hood was hooked. He spent hours upon hours of his free time from helping Jack on patrol and his part time job with Mr Copplepot in the pub kitchen racking through all the resources he could find on this mysterious red headed man. He collected newspaper snippets, magazine articles, and had watched hours of grainy online clips from dodgy websites. He had went through Harvey’s police records, sneaked into the bureau in New York to trifle through their records, asked what he could from the network of heroes in the Rouge’s Galley, even trading away large chunks of his own ration book to the homeless just to add more to his growing scrapbook. 

By the end of the second month, he was pleased with what he gathered. 

His alias was Armament; he used to be known as Speedy, the Blue Huntsman’s (Oliver Queen) ward and personal boy toy. His real name is Roy Harper Jr, he was the same age as Nightingale, he is one hundred and ninety five pounds of pure muscle at a height of 5”11. He is a red head and has piercing green eyes. Armament is an Olympic level archer and a black belt master in Moo Gi Gong and extremely efficient with firearms. He speaks several languages such as English, Native Navajo, Japanese, and Russian. He was also a drummer in a band known as the Big Toad before Queen shut that down for “trifling with the peasants”. Armament even has a Navajo brand on his chest. 

Armament was raised by a tribe of native Amerikans after the chief of the tribe murdered his father for trespassing on their land. He was taken in by Queen when the tribe traded him in for protection. Since then Armament had trained his whole life to follow in the Blue Huntsman’s footsteps and become another asset to the Crime Syndicate. Like Wayne, Queen enjoys keeping his successor on a tight leash – opting to control Armament with a steady addiction to heroin ever since he joined the Teen Tyrants. 

Since leaving the Tyrants, Armament had made himself busy by fathering a daughter with a hero known as Cheshire and is trying his best to please his master and the other heads of the Crime Syndicate so that they won’t murder his child or cut off his supply for poor performance.

It was sad, putting up that report, it made Jason suddenly feel rather fortunate. He felt relieved that Wayne nearly bashed his brains out with that crowbar and that a kooky clown scooped what was left of him. Jason stared out of his bedroom window, stared at the same black sky he always saw every time he stared out the thing and chewed on his pen. He peacefully clipped a snapshot, the newest addition to his collection in firmly as a car honked somewhere in the distance. 

“Hey Son, what cha doing?” 

Jason bit sharply on pen causing the ink to go everywhere. 

“Oh it’s nothing Jack!” 

“Doesn’t look like nothing, what cha doing?” 

“It’s just a hobby-” 

“Oh come on Songbird, don’t be like that, let your dear old dad take a look at that...”

“Jack please-” 

Jack’s eyes suddenly popped, growing greener than Jason had ever seen them before. They glowed like they were something out of a radioactive alien ship, but shimmered calmly like the waves of the sea. A massive smile sprouted across his white cheeks as he held the scrapbook in his hands. 

“Oh Jay! Oh Cupcake! Oh Baby Bird, I am so proud of you! Your first arch enemy! Oh Baby Boy! Duela! Get your butt in here, your big brother has his first arch enemy!” 

“It’s nothing like that!” Jason coughed, turning as red as his helmet. 

“Oh Jay-Jay, your first arch, oh how exciting!” Duela chimed, clambering her way into Jason’s tiny bedroom.

Warm hands grasped at Jason’s sleeve, holding them in a handcuffed pull. Jack tugged Jason over, leading him out of the chair and into a tight hug. 

“Oh I am so proud of you! Look at this, look at the detail! Duela, I want you to look at this and I want you to study this because this is how it should be done! I wish I could pin this up on the fridge-” 

“Oh my Satan, will you stop?!” 

“Daddy, he’s a red head.” 

“Oooo...look at those abs, my goodness you could grind meat on those-” 

“Stop!” 

“It’s alright Jay, I remember when I redid my research on Owlman. Ah, young love.” Jack gave an airy smile, lost in his own dream world again. Duela and Jason shared a concern glance as their father wafted the file over himself with a heartfelt sigh. Jack snapped his back and chuckled “Ah where was I, ah yes. Jay, it time we have a talk. A man’s talk. Sorry Sweetheart, but we need to sit out on this one.” 

“Aww, but Daddy-” 

“I’m sorry Dear, but you’re still not advanced enough to hear this yet. I’ll have this talk with you when you move on with your training. But for now, it’s Jason’s time.” Jack soothed, sweetly ushering his daughter out of the room. 

“But Dad-” 

“No buts and no listening in either. I don’t want a repeat from what happened last time, okay?” 

Both Jason and Duela shuddered at the thought of memory of the last time Jack had tried to speak to one of them alone. It caused Duela enough confusion and disgust that she zipped all over the flat like a rabbit in season trying to forget the time her father uttered the words ‘foreplay’ and ‘blow job’. Duela politely closed the door behind her, locking it shut. Jack stayed in place, listening as his daughter’s tiny footsteps were finally out of earshot. He turned to Jason with a smirk and his hands behind his back. 

“Okay. Let’s start.” He smiled, taking a seat on Jason’s tiny bed. “So...okay. When a hero and a villain hate each other very, very much-” 

“This isn’t another one of your weird talks is it?” 

“No it’s not one of my weird talks. Just run with it, okay? I’m trying to make you understand what I’m trying to get that. This is something that you really need to learn, Jase.” Jack hoisted himself higher on the bed, tucking his legs together like some sort of yoga teacher. It was so odd looking, the fact that Jack was literally half dressed – half his makeup was done, blotches of Jackie Napier were plastered on his face while his lips were still violet from his patrol from the night before. He was still half dressed in his clown get up; his orange shirt was crippled up terribly, his tie was swinging from his neck. He didn’t even both to treat any of his new bruises. He looked like shit and Jack hated looking like shit. But last night must have been hard. That was the only reason why Jason could think Jack would be willing to speak to him as he’s wearing a pair of his daughter’s bright pink sweatpants. Jason patiently strengthened himself up and braced himself for another long monologue. 

“Okay, were was I?” 

“When a hero and a villain hate each other very, very much...” 

“That’s it. Okay, when a hero and a villain hate each other very, very much...they don’t just hate any more. It’s nothing like one of those flings you have with a run of the mill fight. It’s no longer a wham, bam, thank you Pam for the pineapple last week, it’s...complicated.” 

“Complicated?” 

“It comes more than just a job, it’s becomes more than a one off, it becomes a passion- no, not a passion. How’s the best way to describe it? It consumes you...” 

Jason raised an eyebrow, scanning his mentor and how his hands balled up into fists. How he started to shiver on his bed. 

“But that’s okay! You want it to consume you...every breath you take is just another second that brings you two closer to knocking heads again. Every growl, every stare, every single little touch haunts you forever! It’s a burning that rots you from the inside, takes away all your normality and your own individuality and it’s just replaced with him! You’ll find yourself thinking, every second of every day and every sleepless night of what devious plan he’s cooking up for you now. You know that he knows, that you know, that he knows, that you know, he’s also thinking of you too and that every little step you take is something else that needs to be calculated. Every little piece that’s ever been documented about you has been engraved into his mind. You’d be bound forever tied together in this terrifying tango – pushing each other to the brink of what you can be! Alex thinks that the art of arching is like a tidal wave, if that makes sense, just endless crashing at each other over and over and over again. But, well, Alex only has the half of it. Jason, arching is more like the sea, lets say water in general. So, one day it’s carefully planned and it’s all about the anticipation. The next is like how Alex would believe to be, just wild waves rocking your world and shaking your core! But the day after that, that’s when the water becomes unforgiving. It freezes you. It locks in you in place for weeks and you just have to pray that it’ll melt or you’ll have to thaw your way out. Does any of that make sense?” Jack breathed, holding his chest and not noticing the almost rapid froth drooling from his mouth like a mad dog. Jason leaned back into his seat, just staring at him. Jack panted, frowning. He wiped the spit off his mouth. 

“Jack...” Jason stirred in his seat. 

“Yes Buddy?” 

“Are...are you in love with Owlman?” 

“Oh...” Jack stopped, wilfully staring deeply at Jason. “...It’s hard to explain, what a hero and villain can feel for each other goes beyond that.” 

“That’s sick” 

“That’s the truth. Jason. It's when you meet someone who changes your life; you don’t know who you are any more. It’s like he’s cleaved off your past, deforming your memory and he picks it up and glues it into something else. One little chance encounter makes you rethink everything you were and know. It’s about meeting someone who you can really relate to. It’s all very exciting, really.”

“I just wrote a report, you had me write them all the time.” 

“For this moment. Oh my sweet apprentice, this is the first time you sort out your own research on your own.” 

“Really?”

“Well yeah. Okay, how about this, can you tell me how your last battle with your mysterious villain went?” 

“I felt...scared...nervous...powerful...I felt pretty good actually.” 

“Yeah? 

“Yeah.” Jason nodded calmly. “What does it mean?”

“It means you’re ready. Jason, I’m going to have a word with Alex and now I think it’s time that you join the Legion of Justice.” 

“What really?” 

“You’ve got that feeling. It’s time for my apprentice to go out and master his craft.” 

“All because I have an arch?” 

“Because your life as a vigilante starts properly today.” Jack cooed with a stupid smile spread across his face. “Because now your life makes sense.” 

–

The Red Hood stood on the ledge of rotting remains of Wayne Industries, just staring out at the city as the wind tossed his cape. He could feel the rain dribbling down his hood and the rain seeping into his tux, the type of rain that managed to drenched deeply into the flesh and set in the bone marrow. It reminded him of all those days he’d be trapped in one of cells in Arkham, when the Owl decided that he needed discipline. The Red Hood closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He cracked his fingers against the chill of the night. 

“Hood”

“Headless” The Red Hood replied, spinning around on his foot. The Headless Horseman stood before him. 

The Headless Horseman stepped into the moonlight until they were both stood on the ledge. The Headless Horseman’s hands ghosted over the edges of his pumpkin themed helmet, gingerly he slowly started to peel it off. A gaunt, skinny face eyed him. The Red Hood simply nodded and copied him. 

Now that they were both bare of their helmets the Red Hood and the Headless Horseman started out to Gotham and stood beside each other in the pouring rain. 

“So.” The Headless Horseman started. “Was there a reason why you dragged me out on patrol tonight?” 

“I just wanted to see you Jonathan.” Jason smiled, holding his hood in his gloved hands. 

“Nobody just wants to see me.” Jonathan chuckled, with a twinkle trying to dazzle in his soulful brown eyes. Jason smiled at him. 

It hit Jason how spooky it was that Jonathan was really weak. Not only was he extremely skinny and Jack’s only personal rival in the “I want you to eat my share of the rations and I refuse to take no for an answer” Olympics, but he was that type of tall that he was stilling towering over Jason like a skyscraper off of his horse, Freud, but he still had a type of fragile that Jervis was convinced he’d be swept away with the breeze. 

“I do.” 

“Huh uh, so, what’s he’s done now?” Jonathan snorted, wiping rain from his brow. 

“Who?” 

“Who do you think? Jason, I’m a professor in psychology, I know why you ask me to come. Don’t be scared to ask. Jack made me your Godfather on purpose.” Jonathan cackled, wagging a finger. Jason’s ears to turn pink in embarrassment. 

“I still can’t believe he did that.” Jason whispered, staring at his Hood. Jonathan huffed besides him. It was weird, how similar the two of them were. As a teenager, Jason would quietly watch these two gangly men at the kitchen table, biting the tips of their pens over chemical equations and Crime Syndicate psychological profiles. Sometimes he’s catch them both on the couch, cracking open a pair of cold sodas and trading theories like two Stepford wives trading baking recipes. It was only natural that Jack had chosen Jonathan. The two of them slotted together so perfectly that Jason was half way convinced they were long lost brothers. 

“So. What’s he done?” 

“He’s not acting right.” 

“It’s Jack, Jason. If he acted normally, he won’t be Jack.” 

“No, I mean he’s not acting right for him. He’s been acting all quiet. You remember at Jack party, right? He was quiet the whole night. Alex told me he was pouting, at Dave, Sin, and Barb for not turning up. That doesn’t sound like Jack.”

“Jack probably really misses them. It would make sense. The people who you saved the world with have just vanished, I suppose that would be a rather heartbreaking experience.” 

“It’s not just that, he’s been quiet, introverted, 

“I don’t think he’s been the same since the Owl has been locked up. Jon, I think Jack’s in love with him.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened, slowly he placed his finger across his chin and took a moment to think. 

“I’ve known Jack for years. I do think his connection with Wayne is extremely entrenched and linked to his mental health. The human mind is fascinating, it will do anything to protect itself, even go into a state of hibernation. Jack has gone through an awful lot, he displays traits of PTSD, bipolar disorder, and body dysmorphia.” 

“Body dysmorphia?” Jason asked, tracing his fingers over his reflection in his helmet. 

“Jason, when I said I’ve known Jack for years, I mean I've known him before you were even a twinkle in the Postman's eye. I knew him back when he wore that hood. Jack was a totally different person before his transformation from the original Red Hood to the Jokester. The original Red Hood was a good man but quiet and carried himself with nothing short of militarised professionalism. He had such a stubborn, serious personality. But when the original Red Hood fell into that vat, it must of broke him. It must have been awful, one day everything you ever knew of yourself: your name, your face, your memories, all of them just taken in the course of a night. The Jack that realised you is not a person who was born into the world. He’s a mask that a sick man performs because that’s what he sees in the mirror. He had to change every piece of his personality to function.” 

A silence blossomed between the pair. Jason pressed the flats of his fingers against the cool material of the helmet. He looked up to be suddenly taken by awe on how the moon had changed it shape to a smile. A small gasp escaped his lips. When he was a kid he had heard stories about how the moon, like some kind of mystical creature could change it’s shape on different nights. Jonathan noticed Jason’s gasp but silently stood besides him and allowed him to bask in the moonlight and to make the face he made when he saw the sun for the first time. 

“Prison is too good for Wayne.” Jason stated suddenly. 

“I know. Satan, do I know how to good prison is for him.” 

“He’ll escape, you know. At some point, when all the heat is off. He’ll escape, and he’ll do it all over again.” 

Jonathan nodded. “I know.” 

Jonathan shivered sharply. A weak mumble crumbled out of his mouth. Feebly Jonathan covered his mouth with one gloved hand as two light pools of tears collected in his eyes. Jason clapped his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and allowed his tired sobs echoed in the night “Hey..” Jason muttered softly. “I’m going to stop him. Once and for all.” 

Jonathan swallowed a mewl, wiped a tear out of his eye, and retrained his stance. “I’m listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fanfic is more of a character analysis of Jokester from Earth 3. We all know that Joker is such a thristy boy when it comes to Bruce, but I thought it would be interesting to see what it would be like with the roles reserved. What would a good Joker do if he had the same hunger? That was really my main question and how he would he still be crazy if he did good things instead if just being evil. 
> 
> I liked to use the most of the canon from the Earth 3 comics but with a playful little add on or a trim of the fat here and there. I already had a comment saying how good it is that I put Harvey in this universe because lets be real, why would Harvey randomly become a woman just to be good? I've kinda met that half way and I'm saying that Harvey and Evelyn are twins and Harvey is the best friend/uncle in the story even though he will act like a bit of the OG Black Mask. 
> 
> Oh and I made Alexander a devout religious man because I thought it would be really fun to have a Luthor who humbled himself by believing in a higher power than himself and it keeps him grounded. This leads me to my next little pinpoint; since the world is basically upside down, everything is going to be opposite - the sun raises in the west and sets in the east, Lucifer is the good omen in the bible and is seen as the savior of mankind while Judas is his prophet, and Nickelback is actually good. 
> 
> Thanks for reading anyway. It's been awhile since I wrote something and even longer still since I wrote any fanfiction. I'm such a boomer now that I'm still rather rusty, but I'll try to keep you kids entertained as much as I can.


End file.
